Of Duty
by plutospawn
Summary: If your obligations toward ending the Blight and saving your people involve destroying yourself and the people you care about, what does one choose?


_"Father says elves aren't very nice, but you're nicer than everyone here."_

"Unbelievable! I just-- I can't believe you would actually do this." Alistair paced as he raged and his hands cut through the air as if to grasp for some sort of truth. It must have eluded him; his hands continued to swipe wildly. "How could you? I thought we meant something. I thought I meant something."

Nema Surana crossed her arms. "You do."

That stopped him. He looked at her and his face twisted. "Oh, that's rich. I'm special! Gee, I feel awfully special, now, don't I? If this is what you do to people you care about, what do you do to your enemies?"

"I kill them. You know that."

"I see we're done talking." The anger drained from his face. The exhaustion and overwhelming hurt flickered across his features before he tried to force them away with a scowl. In her experience, Alistair had never succeeded at hiding his emotions, but his attempts were always telling.

He leaned a fist against the wall of the guestroom at the Redcliffe estate and raked his free hand through his hair. A gilded cage. He'd never appeared so at home.

In a way, she'd also lived a privileged life. Her memories of the Alienage were fleeting enough to understand, but so few that any real elf would spit on her if she cried about injustice. Mages, due to their very nature, were at odds with the rest of the world. But they were kept safe, they were kept fed. There was a respect that came with the ability to wield death at your fingertips.

An elf in the tower was rare, which was odd when Nema considered the implications, but everyone seemed more concerned with their impending Harrowings or banding against the Templars than race superiority. Knowing that your victim could set your testicles ablaze was also a very effective deterrent that kept her safe and isolated throughout her stay there.

So when Alistair said that their childhoods were probably similar, she just silently nodded her head. She wondered if King Maric forced himself upon Alistair's mother, or if she did so willingly, hoping for the bastard child that would elevate her. He had a locket, a gift that he shattered and discarded. Nema had nothing. She had memories that could not be thrown aside so easily.

_"Please!" There was something about how the word arched jaggedly around the tiny hut that made her look up. She wished she didn't._

_Mother was hurt again. Tears cut through the filth and blood on her cheeks as she begged through a broken face. Her arms clung around Father's waist and when she pressed her face against his side, another tooth fell out._

_Father had a sword in his hands. She'd never seen him with one, before. "Stand up."_

_"You can't." Snot dripped from Mother's nose to the gash in her lip. "We're not allowed weapons, they'll kill you and if you're dead--"_

_"They'll do this to you?" He cupped her chin roughly. "And in front of the child? How is this okay? How can I let this happen? If I do nothing--"_

_"You'll live."_

_Nema played with her dolls. Splintered wooden faces dressed in rags. She'd talk to them and sometimes they'd talk back._

_Father left that night. He didn't return in the morning. Later, she accidentally set some laundry on fire and then the tower took her in when her people tried to use her to cremate the dead. Mother had seemed relieved._

"You'll make a good king, I think," Nema said.

"Yes, something I never wanted," Alistair sneered. The anger was back again, a welcome reprieve. "So not only shackle me to that, but shackle me to a wife of convenience. I never asked for that. It's my life, why didn't you think to address any of my concerns? I don't think you care anymore, if you ever did. I don't even know why I'm bothering."

"If this is about Loghain..."

Alistair dropped his hand from the wall and stormed over to her with such a ferocity that when she inhaled, she held the breath in until he was finished screaming, "This is not just about Loghain! And you know it! I loved you." His last words tapered off and cracked.

Nema cupped his cheek in her hand. When he went to pull away, she dug her fingers into his face and pulled him down eye-to-eye with her. "I am doing what is necessary," she said quietly. "To end the Blight and for my people. If you ever doubt for a moment that I love you--"

"Zevran was necessary?" He blinked hard as he pressed his forehead against hers.

"My race is dying, Alistair, yours has seen to that. We're obligated to have children."

He scoffed, "Is that the line he used to get you in his tent?"

Nema shook her head. "My tent, love."

"Don't call me that! You haven't the right." Any previous force behind what he said was gone. He shrugged and stared past her.

"It's your duty to make an heir with your pretty, little queen, you know," she murmured.

Alistair pushed away from her. "And that's all your fault."

"Oh?" Nema balled her hands into fists and marched after his retreating form. "And what would you have decided, instead? Should I be your whore and consort, good King? That sounds lovely to you, doesn't it?"

He took a few steps back and bumped into the ornate, gold-leaf lamp on the wall. "Now, I never said--"

"You know what killing an archdemon entails? Loghain is going to save our lives. He is going to die for us and you're too busy crying over bestowing him the honor of sacrifice?" Her fingertips slapped against his chest as she waved her hand furiously in the air. "I have to worry about ending a Blight and improving the quality of life for my people before I can even begin to worry about you, about me."

Nema exhaled a long breath and rested her cheek against the mail on his chest. The metal was so cool against her burning face. She felt his chin graze across the top of her head and then it was gone.

"There is no you or me." His voice was soft, vulnerable. Maybe it was her chance to make amends. Tell him that he was right and what he wanted was important. She'd let all her kinsfolk disown her as a race traitor as she lived a life of privilege as the human King's favorite indulgence. Perhaps he'd even let her help him raise the children he'd have to produce with another woman to insure a bloodline.

Nema tilted her head up and looked him square in the eye. "Make as many babies as you need with your wife and never tell me about it. It's what you need to do. I understand."

Alistair placed his hands on her shoulders and led her an arms-length distance from him. "I was wrong about you. Please leave."

Nema moved her mouth, but nothing came out. His words hung in the air like a heavy weight, so thick she could taste them. So she stood there, willing the silence to crawl out of her ears, for the entire mood to dissipate. It was hard to know how to react when he wasn't using anger or sarcasm. Alistair's eyes were so sincere. So wounded. One final stroke of her cheek and he moved toward his bed, away from her.

As she walked back to her room, Nema began to giggle. A strange fit of laughter as she kicked open her door and punched the wall. It did nothing to the heavy wood, but her hand ached and her foot throbbed. Alone, she curled into a ball and rubbed her hand. She would have been better off pursuing love with the golem. At least Shale understood that some things were more important than bestowing simple kindnesses on every undeserving wretch that crossed their path. Not everyone could be happy at the same time. She supposed it must have been an idle fancy or idiotic curiosity to have thought of Alistair as anything more than a human.

_"Excuse me, miss, but are you an elf?"_

_"Did the ears give me away?"_

_"Father says elves aren't very nice, but you're nicer than everyone here."_

_His red, little lips twisted into a bright grin as he bobbed his head and scampered off. There was a lightness in Nema's stomach. A hot, searing anger that built until her fingers began to shake as she tightened the strings to her coin purse._

_That was what they taught their children? She wanted to reach out, feel the boy's life energy, pull it from his body, pull it into her own. No one would know. Excited over the free meal she'd just bought him, he'd reach the tavern before he collapsed. No one had any reason to examine an orphaned dead peasant too closely. Her people would always be safer with one less human._

_"You did a good thing, yes?" Leliana's hand on her shoulder made Nema drop her outstretched hand back down to her side. "Not everyone would've shown the boy kindness."_

_Nema shrugged as she swallowed the rage back down hard into her belly. She'd store it, save it for later to use for something more productive. "Just don't let everyone know about it."_

And Alistair had the nerve to hate her. He was the one that left, first.


End file.
